Photo by Rudri Bhatt Patel

by Lana Bella

Dear Hollow,

And then I stood an ache from
the sea, marbling the fenced-
in shores of the universe; salt
eyes swelled orgasm of sunset.
Dear hollow, the black I have
sewed into eyes knew the whip
of flat bottom wind from licks
of geraniums bruised in bloom.
A hundred feet out, the raw cut
with every ohm, salving sinews
to the throats of gulls, narrow,
closed, silvering when mingled
with washing rocks and tall hills.
I stirred breathless, wending as
tension down the sides of water,
while shawl of starlings lined
me by the accidental strokes of
lightning, pouring like a lover’s
touch turned wilder at sundown.



There remained in her something
concealed, elusive, cumuli floated up
the throat, erstwhile flight of nectar
moved stillness to torment rise. Rose
leaves turned like reds of fairy-dust,
whistling arboreal across the stolen
spring, where her unsparing blood
traversed saturnine, flowing, passing,
gently wheezed under the ennobled
weight of sternum shadows. Flickers
of amusement nursed her mouth,
filtering the laments that hungered,
emerald to what smoothness pressed
through fingers escaped, emerged
as pleats in the light of an aquarium.